


No One Knows Who You Are

by litsasecret



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Non Consensual, Other, Secret Identity, killjoys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litsasecret/pseuds/litsasecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Killjoys are captured. Gratuitous angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Knows Who You Are

The thing was, the big thing about BL/ind. was that they wanted to control everything about you, like thoughts and feelings and sex and everything that made life worth living.

They wanted him to fight and scream and struggle, because that's what he'd been doing for so long, only against them, and they wanted to be in control of that, so he couldn't let them.

He smirked against the pain, even as some other part of his subconscious blocked it out, like there were two of him, one who was being assaulted, and one who was triumphing over everything BL stood for even as they tied him down and tried to break him.

Besides rape was-- well being raped by a drugged up guy who also basically had no choice in what he was doing while Korse and that bitch with the short, dark hair and bland face watched was pretty fucking awful, but it wasn't death, and it wasn't being injected with whatever mind-numbing drugs they thought would work on him, and he hoped maybe, if he kept quiet and still they'd stop, eventually, or move on, or something.

He knew they wouldn't, but forcing them to play on his terms was all he had left, so he took it, watching a tiny frown line form between the bitch's eyebrows with some satisfaction, turning his head a little more, craning his neck to see the others.

They were all still bound to the wall, plastic safety restraints bland and white against their desert-chapped skin, against swirls of tattoos and scars and color, and everything that their captors wanted to erase.

Fun Ghoul caught his eye and deliberately winked, reassurance and blessing and 'fuck 'em all' all rolled into a tiny movement that they would never understand, and Jet Star strained against his bonds, snarling and vicious and they'd gagged him so Gerard couldn't hear his exact words, but the tone was obvious and it made him relax just the slightest bit more.

They all fought in their own ways.

Mikey sat rigid, hands clenched into tight fists, and Gerard caught his gaze and held it, one second, two, before he realized that Mikey's cheeks were damp, eyelashes spiky and dark with tears, and it took him another second to realize that Mikey was _crying_ , his baby brother was fucking _crying_ and BL could have anything, any piece of him they wanted, but they couldn't have _that_.

He bit his lip hard, drawing blood, swallowing back his brother's name just in time, because they won't get that, not from his lips.

“Kobra,” he said instead, his voice hoarse like he'd been screaming. “Kobra, it's--” he's forced to stop mid-sentence because otherwise, otherwise he _would_ scream and if he starts screaming he probably won't stop and that would just make Mikey cry more.

“It's okay,” he tried. “It's okay see, doesn't, _fuck_ ,” he cut himself off and had to bite his lip again. “Doesn't matter. They don't win, so it doesn't matter.”

Mikey shook his head, too-long hair sticking to his tear-stained cheeks.

“That is where you're wrong,” the bitch said, interrupting his private conversation, fuck her. “We always win.”

She gestured slightly at the poor bastard who'd been fucking Gerard, and he pulled out, and that hurt almost worse than before, and he slicked up his hand and wrapped his fist around Gerard and it felt so _good_ , the contrast to the suppressed pain from earlier enough to make him gasp.

Despite the clinical precision of the touch, despite the blank-faced indifference with which it was being delivered, it took very little before Gerard was pressing into the touch, moaning, and coming all over the poor bastard's hand.

Mikey's eyes were closed when Gerard looked back at him, and his stomach clenched around shame and humiliation for having gotten off like that, while Mikey was crying, because he's _not_ into that, he isn't.

He knew, abstractly, that BL _wanted_ him to feel ashamed, so he tried to crush the emotion, and then he wondered whether that was what they had been going for after all, and all he could do was lay there, helpless, flushed and nauseated and wondering whether he could win against them after all.

“See?” the bitch asked sweetly, before gesturing again and leaving the room, Korse and the poor bastard trailing behind.

After the white door slammed closed, their restraints were released from the wall, and in Gerard's case, the table, and he sat up, flinching at the ache that was spreading down his thighs, the soreness he usually didn't mind, usually let put a swagger in his step, serving only as a reminder of what had just happened, of Mikey.

He glanced at the white bands, wondering if they were magnetic or something, and he glanced at Fun Ghoul, raising an eyebrow.

Ghoul shrugged and waggled his eyebrows in response and Gerard nodded thoughtfully, glancing significantly at the camera in the corner of the room.

Ghoul nodded back.

Jet Star had torn the gag off and was up and pacing the room and not saying a word and not looking at Gerard, but that was okay, Gerard could deal with that. He slid off the table, wobbling a little when his legs shook under the sudden weight, and Jet said, without even looking in Gerard's direction, “The least they could have done was left you pants.”

“Nah,” Gerard replied. “Rather go naked than wear white.”

Jet had nothing to say to that.

Gerard stumbled over to the bench where Mikey still sat, hands still clenched into fists.

He sat too, worming his arm around Mikey's shoulders and forcing him to lean against his chest. Gerard pressed his face into Mikey's hair, inhaling sharply and grimacing at the bland scent from the showers they'd all been forced to take.

He used his free hand to uncurl each of Mikey's fists in turn, and they both stared at the bloody crescent marks where his fingernails had broken skin. Mikey flipped his hands over and rubbed them briskly over his pants, tiny streaks of shocking crimson trailing in their wake.

“Sorry,” Mikey whispered, and Gerard snarled, fingers digging into Mikey's shoulder hard enough to bruise and he wanted to _shake_ him and demand to know what he's sorry for, but then Mikey made a soft, pained noise and Gerard unclenched his fingers, smoothing his hand over Mikey's shoulder like he could erase the hurt.

In lieu of any kind of response or return apology, he brushed a kiss over Mikey's temple, light and casual and so much more, and Mikey made the same noise again before shifting on the bench so he could hide his face in Gerard's neck.

Ghoul came over and snapped the zipper pull off Mikey's pants.

“Cool idea,” he said, fingers dragging along the bloodstains, and then he dug the end of the zipper into his arm, deep enough to make it bleed, and used it to scribble out 'Fun Ghoul was here, motherfuckers,” in glaring defiant letters along Mikey's pant leg. “Do mine next,” he offered, holding up his still bleeding arm.

Mikey pulled away from Gerard enough to press fingers to the cut, before drawing thee jagged lightning bolts and the initials K.K. on Ghoul's thigh.

Ghoul smiled, dangerous and hot and mean and desperate. He wiped the zipper pull on the other leg, then undid Mikey's pants all the way, nuzzling his face between Mikey's thighs.

He jammed the zipper pull into one of his cuffs and it hissed and clattered off his wrist.

Gerard smirked at the camera, angled so it couldn't see what had just happened, and buried his free hand in Ghoul's hair.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Do that again, get Kobra off... then me.”

Jet startled and stopped his heavy pacing to stare at them. He stepped gingerly over to them, and Gerard nudged the fallen cuff with a toe. Jet settled next to them on the bench.

“Don't leave me out,” Jet said. “It's boring in here.”

Gerard grinned and let his head fall to rest on Jet's shoulder. “You're telling me. I don't even have pants to draw on.”

Jet propped his knee up, exposing a canvas of white, and Gerard grinned, snapping Jet's zipper pull and cutting Jet's arm so he could have ink.

By the time they were all free, Jet's pants had an impressive drawing of the bland-faced bitch screaming in terror as the four of them chased her down with rayguns, and in Gerard's case, a syringe.

On the ankle hem, he'd finished it off with her laying down with xs for eyes and the initials P.P.

“What now?” Jet asked.

“We wait, I guess. I don't see them leaving us alone for long,” Gerard said. Mikey shifted, moving around so his head was pillowed in Gerard's lap. Gerard moved a hand and let it tangle in Mikey's hair, not pulling, just a simple 'I'm here'.

The bitch came back with a half dozen dracs who pinned then with rayguns as soon as they walked in the room.

Gerard had been staring at the way the magnetic bracelets had shot to the walls and didn't react in time-- which was a really good thing, given the sheer number of dracs.

“How stupid do you think I am?” she asked, smiling a fake smile that chilled Gerard to the bone.

Gerard shrugged though, nonchalant. “Worth a try,” he said, smiling his own fake smile.

“I thought you boys would want to know that I ran your IDs. You have _very_ interesting pasts, let me just say. I wonder if even you have any idea how interesting?”

Gerard clenched his fists. She couldn't--

But then she held up a folder with Ghoul's face on it. He looked tired in the picture, and he was missing the scorpion tattoo.

“Frank Iero, wanted for various counts of criminal mischief. Apparently _someone_ had an affinity for Molotov Cocktails before alcohol was made illegal and all combustible fuels rationed.”

Ghoul shrugged, squeezing Gerard's ankle, but Mikey shot straight up, making a sort of strangled noise of disbelief.

“Don't worry, _Kobra_ ,” she said. “I'll get to you. But first, how about Ray Toro? Lived an entirely unremarkable life, working for Better Living right up until he disappeared in the middle of the night. Reported missing by his wife, who has since remarried. Hmm, very boring, isn't he?”

Jet bristled, but didn't say anything.

“Michael Way, now _you,_ are an interesting boy.” The folder she held up for him had an impossibly young looking Mikey on it. “You had average grades all through school, though your teachers often complained about you falling asleep in class. The most cited excuse was that your brother had 'nightmares' and you had to 'protect him'.”

Gerard flinched.

“You went to several psychologists with your brother up until the age of 15, when you just... disappeared. Your parents file a missing persons report 48 hours later, along with one for your brother.”

She smirked, a triumphant gleam lighting up her expression the way nothing had before.

“You know, despite everything, your mother never told the police what they wanted to hear, that their older son had kidnapped their under-aged baby boy and taken him to the zones where no one would know that he was a sick bastard who'd been preying on his kid brother since he was... oh, let's call it 11, since that's when the sleeping in school problems showed up.”

“That's not _true_!”

She opened the last folder. “Gerard--” Mikey snarled like a wild animal, flying up, flailing to punch her before she could tell the others the truth, and then the door burst open, five masked zone-runners taking out all the dracs handily.

Mikey kept punching her, over and over, and Gerard struggled to pull him off of her. “C'mon Kobra,” he grunted, trying to keep him from attacking her further. “We've gotta leave.”

Ghoul took a raygun from a fallen drac and fired at the folders where they'd fallen on the floor, a haphazard pile of papers, their lives before.

After several seconds they burst into cheery flame, and the Ghoul turned his weapon on the bitch's unconscious form. He can't fire long enough to catch her on fire, but Gerard hopes she's permanently scarred even after they revive her.

Jet handed Mikey and him each a ray gun of their own and they take off, down the hall and out of the complex. Show Pony is behind the wheel of the Trans Am, and there's an unfamiliar truck idling next to it, and the strangers all pile into the bed of the truck, so Gerard climbs into the back seat of the Trans Am, Mikey behind him and then Ghoul, leaving Jet to sit shotgun.

They peeled out of the city before the dracs have even deployed, and Gerard felt the adrenaline of the capture and the subsequent escape drain out of him, and he deflated, slumping in the seat.

Mikey huffed softly and pressed his palm against Gerard's side.

“It's not true,” Mikey said into the silence. “What she said, about-- about me being 11.”

“Good,” Jet said. “I'm really not in the mood to help Party plan a decades late lynch mob.”

Gerard was seized by laughter despite the lack of humor in the situation.

No one asked him what was so funny, or to share his own story, and he was almost relieved by that. He let Mikey pull him close and Ghoul settle against his side, and he tried to sleep. It would be a couple hours 'til they were safe, after all.

He must have, because the next thing he knew he was fighting that drugged bastard, hands free this time but getting nowhere, because despite the fact that the fucker was buried in him, he kept dodging Gerard's flailing fists.

Gerard screamed and tried to roll away, they way he hadn't allowed himself to in the BL/ind. complex, and fell off the table--

And woke up, startled and sweating, with Mikey's hands on his shoulders. He reached helplessly for Mikey, and Mikey pulled him back up onto the seat so he could curl up with his head in Mikey's lap.

He made a pained noise, and rubbed his face on Mikey's pants.

“Fuck,” he said, finally. “That's gonna suck for awhile.”

“Yeah,” Show Pony agreed. “Good thing Kobra's so used to your nightmares already though, right?”

Gerard opened his mouth to say something damning, then snapped it shut. Ghoul stared at him with wide, startled eyes, and Jet didn't move a muscle.

The silence curled around them, tense enough to shatter steel, until Show Pony broke it.

“We're here. We can get your ugly selves back into something resembling clothing. All that white is making me sick, and I _don't_ mean those pants.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is no excuse for this. I don't write in this fandom, no one I know actually reads in this fandom except my best friend from high school who I don't even talk to anymore. But I like feedback, so I'm posting it.
> 
> Hi, Jessie.


End file.
